


whispers from the heavens

by orphan_account



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I like making Grian suffer, Taurtis makes an appearance, The Author Regrets Everything, Wowee I actually tried on this one, but only kind of, poor Grian lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23050669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sometimes, on a clear night, when the full moon shines brightly against the dark velvety sky, a whisper comes, from a source unknown. It creeps through trees and shrub, glides over waves and weaves through buildings, to the target it searches for.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 90





	whispers from the heavens

**Author's Note:**

> angst y’all
> 
> lol this ain’t that good save me

Sometimes, on a clear night, when the full moon shines brightly against the dark velvety sky, a whisper comes, from a source unknown. It creeps through trees and shrub, glides over waves and weaves through buildings, to the target it searches for. 

It was a night like this when Grian lay awake, tossing and turning, and despite the exhaustion that lingered in his body, he found it impossible to fall asleep. The sheets of his bed lay rumpled and unkept from his continuous movement.

It was a night like this when a voice washed over him, leaving threads of magic everywhere it went. It was like the wind, flowing and flying with a melodic freedom. And though those voices were always there (from where? He didn't know) this night had something new to it. It rose in volume, beckoning to him. 

Grian sat up, blankets pooling at his waist. The voices cut out, like a switch had been clicked. Where did it go? He reached up, and the surroundings seemed to buzz with energy, humming as though they were tumbling over one another to reach this source of— of what?

Then something changed. The magical aura was sucked out like a vacuum. But magic cannot disappear entirely. So where did it-? He let out a surprised gasp at the warmth suddenly flowing through his veins a second later. It wasn't unfamiliar; in fact, it was probably the sensation he was most acquainted with. Though, it had been so long since he'd felt an energy like that...

The palm of his hand tingled with anticipation, and as though by instinct, he held it out. A tiny flicker of light soon grew to flames bursting to life in his hold. Tinged varying shades of purple, the heat reached out to encompass his entire body. And he smiled. 

But it really had been a while since he'd last used magic. And the thing about magic is if one cannot control it, it will take the reins itself and corrupt its user. Grian wasn't an idiot. He knew many that had been taken over by the sheer power of it. And so just as the fire started to become painfully hot, he hastily extinguished the blaze, watching the last few sparks die out.

It was then that the murmurs returned tenfold, and if he listened carefully, they formed words. Words, not in English, but in an ancient language he knew much of. It had been his first, actually. Galactic, was his immediate realisation. 

Come join us. Come back. 

Just two phrases, over and over. Repeated by thousands of voices, a cacophony. They echoed, and blended together. It kept going, slowly pulling him into a trance like state, and maybe he could obey and just return—

No. No. He'd sworn to never return to that place. But still, some hint of his old life stayed. A ghost of laughter. A flash of a face, unfocused; an old name. Something he had left behind. When he had left them, he had thrown himself through the thin veil that separates magic from the world, and cut the ties. 

The voices merged and changed again, and became a melody. A mournful one, one of sorrow and loss. And the moon shone brighter, brighter. 

It was then that Grian found himself fumbling with the ladder that led out of his underground bunker. The jungle looked mysterious at night, when the vines and leaves rustled in the wind. But his eyes were locked on the bright clearing illuminated in moonlight not five meters away. 

It was quiet now, the voices having disappeared into some dark corner of his mind. And a fire erupted. Nothing like the small flames he held in his hand; a wildfire. It ate at vegetation and smoke, purple smoke, rose high into the air, wrapping around him and entangling him in its choking, harsh scent. 

Then the blaze itself came and instead of the painful burn he was expecting, there was nothing. Nothing but pure fire and flames. And it was comforting. Comforting in its own, strange, way. 

But the fire was short lasting, and soon the forest was bathed in darkness once again; but then an overwhelming urge to just fly, fly away rose to the surface, and he was leaping into the air, craving the exhilarating feeling flight gave him. 

The new world kept him from that release; he didn't have access to it. Without the primitive form he loved so much anyway, there was no way he could soar with the clouds yet. 

Again, flashes of an old life came. This time of vibrant feathers curving gracefully on his back, and being able to just let the magic flow freely in him. Then those were ripped away, far from gently, leaving nothing but burning agony. 

When he stayed in the air instead of dropping down to the ground, Grian looked up in astonishment. He wasn't flying, per se, but it was something he would describe more accurately as floating. He was suspended in the air, the feeling of magic still whirling about around him. 

Then those condensed, and it created a light. Purple. Then it was zooming up back into the clouds, and spreading itself across the sky, creating a pulsating circle that suddenly started splitting. 

The center was melting away, leaving not the sky but a different world in its wake. Until just a glowing ring was left; the border between worlds. The voices were back, this time singing a joyful ballad. 

Grian let a single spark of magic escape him, and it was enough.

They were coming through. Robes whipping in the wind, hood lowered over the eyes, a mask covering what was exposed. The symbol so familiar to him pinned at the collar. They were not a person; nor were they any kind of physical thing; an entity, almost. They were a Watcher. Cold and commanding. 

"Xelqua."

The old name brought him to attention, and Grian looked at them with a mixture of contempt and fear. 

"We have still called you back. You have responded to our summons, even after your betrayal."

"It wasn't my greatest moment," he stared at Watcher, trying to remember the details. 

"Do you wish to go back?"

Grian hesitated at that; recalling the memories he had made, the friendships he had created. The worlds he had gone through with those friends. But still, he knew somewhere, that it wasn't where he belonged. 

"No."

Watcher looked at him. "You betrayed us. You left us, when we had given you everything. We're giving you another chance."

"I wouldn't exactly call destroying my world giving me everything."

"We did it for the good of the universe," Watcher said stiffly, "and we need our apprentice back."

"I don't want to go back." Grian said again. 

"Why not? Think about it, Xelqua. We can give you everything back. Become powerful. With us."

"I'm happy here. I have my friends."

"What about your old friends?" Watcher said, looking at him. "Where do you think they are?"

A pair of red and blue headphones falls through the void. 

Then, the painful memories that had been erased after falling into Hermitcraft returned anew. Back in the smoke, the fire, the destruction. Back with the arguments, the deaths, the losses. Back with the maniacal laughter and gunshots.

And back with him. Again. 

Flames burst to life, ones of his own creation, but they're streaked with black. The darkness is all-consuming and dangerous, fuelled by the darkness of his own past. 

"Goodbye, Xelqua."

Then the portal is gone. The fire is gone. Grian realises that the extra weight on his back are wings, but the feathers there too, are blackened. The forest around him doesn't conceal his badly muffled sobs.

Yes, the magic is back. But so is the darkness, and that may be worse than anything.


End file.
